"He's a better hoss than when I got him," said the old man, "and he's won four races. Maybe he'll win four more. You asked for my figure. You got it. Two thousand. Not a cent less."
Miles argued and pleaded, but the old man was firm.
"It ain't as if I was wantin' to sell," he explained. "I never want to sell—when the other man wants to buy. That's business, ain't it? Two thousand—take it or leave it."
"I'll see you later," said Miles. "You might come down some."
Hardly was he out of the room before Old Man Curry turned to his remaining guest.
"Well, Frank," said he, "you know something. What is it?"
"I know Miles is trying to buy the black horse for Al Engle."
Old Man Curry's fist thumped upon his knee.
"Engle! How did you find that out, son?"